


To the Sticking Place

by GoggledMonkey



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Period-Typical Sexism, awkward idiots in love, but they won't say they're in love, outdated ideas about virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 19:32:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13596855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoggledMonkey/pseuds/GoggledMonkey
Summary: "That went well all things considered. In that, there were no murders or explosions and I wasn't executed."Rosaline and Bevolio are married before anything else can stop the union and they need to figure out what that means for them. Also, there is the matter of the wedding night.





	To the Sticking Place

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kereia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/gifts).



The wedding comes as a surprise.

It shouldn't. They were, after all, still betrothed but when Rosaline had started the day in an audience with the Prince her concern was preventing Benvolio's execution. Not only was he still framed for murder he was now accused of being a kidnapper and a rapist. Her kidnapper and rapist. Rosaline tries to explain that he is none of these things but no one wants to listen not to a sullied woman. She knew that she would be throwing away her honour by running off with Benvolio but she had not figured that the world would care more about her virginity then murder and conspiracy.

She is not alone in audience and her company is her uncle who yells about her, "sullied virtue" and Lord Montague who hisses back about, "bride prices". Neither man has captured Escalus's attention; his eye is on her alone. Escalus does not look like the man she knows or rather, he stares at her with the eyes of a man looking at a stranger, as if Rosaline were some unknown entity standing before him not a woman he knows. It is the same look that flashed on his face when she threw herself between his blade and Benvolio's heart when they had been caught outside of Verona.

"My Lord, I beg you to listen to me," she tries in the lull of yells and hisses, "and I beg you to spare the life of Benvolio Montague." She steps past the two heads of houses without a look to either of them curtsying low to the Prince. These arguing Lords cannot or will not aid her so Escalus is the only man she looks at.

If there was any good in the man, Rosaline imagines that Lord Montague would argue with her for Benvolio's defense. She had once a brief thought that they could be allies, her and Lord Montague, if only for Benvolio's sake. But now it is clear, as the man continues to goad her uncle about bride prices and cathedrals that he does not care for his nephew, that his designs for "The Marriage of Rosaline and Benvolio" have fallen for a new plan she cannot fathom. Perhaps he does think with bride prices paid that he will marry her and breed another heir or just pick another cousin from the pack and let that man do it. Either way, Benvolio has become expendable and so Lord Montague is not her ally.

As for her uncle, he has never been Rosaline's ally.

She only has herself and the love the Escalus says he has or once had for her and no new words to say.

"The murder was a set up, to frame the heir of House Montague, to cause more strife in the city," and oh how it worked, "I was not kidnapped, I went with Benvolio willingly to help him find proof of his innocence and to protect both our families from this outside attacker," there is an amused cluck from one of the men behind her, it doesn't matter which (probably Montague, possibly her Uncle) what matters is that none of these men will accept that a man could ever ask for help from a woman and this makes fury whip inside her like an uncontrollable asp, "he did not hurt me. He did not touch me."

"Do you have proof of his innocence?" this is her uncle asking not Escalus but she answers to the Prince instead.

"No my Lord but…" and this is all she has, no proof, only her word against these accusation that Benvolio is not even given the honour of refuting himself. Only her words and the hope that the good man she once knew still resided inside Escalus's skin.

Escalus speaks for the first time "Perhaps, Lady Rosaline, you fear that you will be held as an accomplice in Benvolio Montague's crimes. I assure you if you speak the truth today no further harm shall befall you."

Before she can reply her uncle's, voice rises behind her, "House Capulet will not be drawn into murder committed by a Montague against our own house. If the girl is a-feared it is because she was stolen away in the night and ravaged by a Montague dog!"

The snake of anger trashing inside her breaks free and lunges.

"I fear my lords," she draws her self upright from her curtsy, "that if you kill Benvolio Montague, an innocent man, that you will be doing exactly what our enemies want. I fear that both our houses have been attacked by masked men. I fear your hands stained with innocent blood and a conspiracy tearing our city apart. This is what I fear my Lord." She ends this speech standing tall locking her eyes imploringly with Escalus. She fears that she is a fool and that she never truly knew Escalus. She fears she is wrong in believing he is a good man who must listen to reason.

She also fears, though she cannot say it, that something will shatter inside her if Benvolio ends the day dead.

When Escalus says, "The law is clear Lady Rosaline," it lands on her body like he punched her.

The face Rosaline is making cannot be a ladylike one; the air has gone tart around her making her grimace. _The law is stupid_ she wants to say or _Escalus you know this is wrong_ but what she ends up saying through her clenched teeth is, "The law was made to protect this city not destroy it. Killing the heir of the Montague house so soon after their first heir died will not bring peace," she pauses, considers her words carefully and chooses the ones she hopes will hurt him the most, "You once told me that as the Prince of Verona you could choose neither House Capulet nor House Montague over the other yet you will spare me and not him?"

"Lady Rosaline," he starts, warning in his voice but she cares not.

"You have also told me that you cannot accept my testimony as Benvolio's betrothed. You still call me Lady, so I say this, as a Lady brought up in your court as a citizen of your city: I come to you not as his betrothed but as Lady Rosaline of house Capulet, cousin of the Flower of Verona, daughter of Lord Capulet's younger brother and with this Capulet blood in my veins I swear to you and all of the heavens that Benvolio Montague is innocent and if you still call for his head then by the same law you must kill me as well."

Escalus still looks at her as though she is a stranger and she cares not. Her uncle shouts something, enraged, but she hears not.

"Your betrothed?" When Escalus finally response after what must have been a thousand years he says the words like they are wine rolling over his tongue. "You would not have your betrothal broken then? You would wed him still?"

"Of course. I've already vowed I'd wed him," It is an exasperating question when she has asked to die for Benvolio but everything about this day is exasperating.

"You would marry him and vow by this deed that he is no rapist and that your house absolves him of accusations of murder?"

Hope flutters in her chest. Perhaps Escalus has been swayed by her words.

"Yes! He is no murderer as I have said. This I vow."

"And you will fulfill it? This day?

"Yes, as I have said I will-" his words faintly register, "Today?"

"My Prince that is impos-"her uncle starts but Escalus stand, looms over the room until it falls silent.

"It is possible and indeed, must be done today. The city is in turmoil and I will have peace between your households and I will have it now. Lady Rosaline will wed Benvolio, house Capulet absolves him of murder and-"

"-and any questions of her virtue won't matter after they are wed," Lord Montague says, pointedly to her uncle with a sly smile on his face.

"True, her virtue cannot be questioned, and this will absolve Benvolio of the other charges against him. There will be no duels fought over this," Escalus looks at her Uncle, he does not look at Rosaline. They talk as if she cannot hear them and her stomach churns as humiliation burns underneath her skin.

"It seems that my house must absolve this boy of many crimes today. What concession does house Montague give?" Her uncle's voice is terse.

"Well, there was that little matter of the bride's price." Lord Montague is smug and Rosaline's uncle turns towards him as though they will come to blows.

"House Capulet will give these concessions because it is what your Prince commands and both houses will be grateful their heirs are not executed today. Lady Rosaline, are we in agreement?" Escalus looks at her finally but he talks as though Rosaline has any choice.

There is only one choice.

 _There was a note!_ she wants to cry out, _what happened to the note?_

Another part of her wants to stamp her foot and yell _no._ Has she not given enough? Why must she give everything? No, no this is too fast, she needs it to stop.

"Of course, I shall," is what she says instead, "there is nothing I wish more."

Rosaline is not allowed to leave the palace, or go home or even see Olivia before the wedding. Perhaps because they think she'll run, or be kidnapped, or be hit by a cart. Or perhaps it is just that when the Prince says haste, there is haste and there is no time for a women's sentiment. If she were alone, Rosaline might weep, but the Princess and her handmaidens are there so Rosaline locks her tears away. She's dressed in a gown borrowed from Isabella, a beautiful gown of soft lilac, and her hair is pinned up covered by a veil.

Isabella had been in the throne room that morning when the matter of Rosaline's purity was loudly discussed however, she wears a happy mask acting as though this is a happy anticipated occasion and not what is truly is. She tucks a cornflower behind Rosaline's ear "for luck," and that almost makes Rosaline smile.

The sun is just dipping behind the city when Escalus leads her out to the city square. Benvolio looks so startled when she meets his eyes that she wonders if anyone bothered to tell him he was attending his wedding and not his execution. He is dressed to be wed, someone has managed to get him out of his normal blacks and greys and his tunic is green and gold and cannot actually belong to him anymore then the dress she wears is hers. He squeezes her hands when she's passed like a parcel to him and she squeezes back because she is happy he is not dead. She plasters a smile on because it seems the safest face in the middle of this Gordian knot they are trapped in. Benvolio gives her a smile as well but she knows him enough that she can see the panic in his eyes. They are the eyes of a drowning man; she recognises because she's drowning too.

The wedding is a blur; there is a speech about peace and union and a city united but Rosaline hears it not. It's as though she is drifting out of her body waiting for a dream to end and it's only when the ring is pushed onto her finger that she realizes it is done and they are wed.

"…this bond will be sealed with their kiss," Escalus says, but when he pauses Benvolio makes no move to kiss her. Perhaps, he has yet to wake up to their new reality. If Benvolio cannot play out this farce then Rosaline will. She leans forward closing her eyes as she does. Let them laugh about her eagerness, call her a harlot, no one can say she does not do her duty.

It should be a dry dutiful kiss but once her lips touch his he presses closer and makes it a real kiss. The wetness of his mouth slides hot against hers awakens something in her chest, not an angry snake but something softer and hotter like a butterfly with burning wings fluttering behind her ribs.

It would be nice if she could hide in the moment, escape her humiliations, but then the kiss is over, he pulls away, and they are wed.

There is a dinner, and more speeches and Rosaline does not see Olivia she and Benvolio are not even given space to talk.It's as she always feared marriage to be: she'd buffeted around like a leaf caught in a rushing river with no choice in the direction she goes. Finally, the day ends, the water spits her out, alone at the Montague estate, without her sister, without her clothes, without her name.

She's taken to a dressing room where a handmaid helps her undress from her from her wedding gown. Even the handmaid, Pia, is a stranger to her. Another cruel needle prick pressed into her that Rosaline dare not complain about. Rosaline silently acquiesces to Pia's hands allowing her hair to be brushed, her face washed, and her clothes removed.

When Rosaline is bare save for her drawers and chemise and dressed in a dressing gown more lace and ribbon then fabric Pia curtsies, "is there anything more you need m'lady?"

Pia is young with a certain sweetness around her eyes, but she is still of the house Montague and cannot be trusted no matter how much Rosaline's lonely heart wishes for a friend. Rosaline imagines herself as a lake with a smooth glass surface hiding the depths below and shakes her head coolly.

"I have no more need of you this evening. You may go." There is nothing in her voice to make a servant hate her but nothing to let her love her either. The safe choice. Pia nods and leaves Rosaline alone.

The dressing room is decorated with dark wood and has no windows and two doors. One, which Pia just used that leads to the rest of the manor which Rosaline cannot use and the other, which leads to a bedroom beyond which she must use.

Her hand hesitates at the door latch and her stomach coils into knots. She nervous and she hates it. She wishes there was a metaphor to ground her beating heart with. Maybe Daniel and the lions but Daniel had not wed a lion nor did he have to walk into a bedchamber with a lion and do his duty as a wife and woman with a lion so it's really not the same at all. There should be stories of standing half dressed, with your hand on the door latch when a man waits for you on the other side. Perhaps trembling like a girl on her wedding night -is- the metaphor.

Rosaline is not, however, the girl she once was. Her parent's death, the heart Escalus broke, and two years suffering under her aunt's cruelties have taught her that sorrow and fear are luxuries she cannot afford. Besides, if this is a sacrifice it is a sacrifice Rosaline chose. She allows herself one, two, three, breaths of panic before she shoves all her emotions deep down inside of herself and opens the door.

The bedroom, like the dressing room, has no windows and she figures it was no accident these were the rooms given to them. The only light is from the flickering fireplace which Benvolio, -her husband he's her husband- stares into. He doesn't turn to look at Rosaline as she enters the door closing behind her with a final thud and he's still dressed from the wedding while she's hardly covered by lace and flimsy ribbons.

"That went well all things considered. In that, there were no murders or explosions and I wasn't executed." His voice is cheerful, as though they both had not been forced into this thing, and that cheer makes her remember why she hated him so much. She tries to hold onto that hate.

When she doesn't respond he looks up, and his eyes widening as he takes in her dress or lack thereof.

"Ah, you look…nice." He flounders for the word looking all the world boyish and naive as if he had not taken her to a brothel as if she could ever believe her body was flustering him. Humiliation is back in her throat and it takes the iron of her bones not to cross her arms over her bosom. At this point, there was very little point in hiding her body from him. She glares at him because glaring at him is a familiar thing.

"Please spare me your poetry. I don't want you to hurt yourself," she says, voice blunt, and it makes her feel better as though the world were returning to normal around her. After all, she is no sheep and he is not actually a lion. He is just himself. Benvolio is many things, but he is not a monster and he won't hurt her any more then a man must hurt his wife on their wedding night.

She steels herself again and steps closer to him and the fireplace. No one can say she does not do her duty.

There is a decanter of wine laid out by a bowl of fruit, but she sees no other cup than the one in his hands. She relishes her annoyance.

"There's only one cup!" her glare continues, "You took the _only_ cup for yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous," he glares back then looks around for the other cup that Rosaline has already determined isn't there.

"There was only one cup and of course you took it for yourself." She huffs at him with disdain, "how typical."

Benvolio rolls his eyes just as dramatically and bows, deep, low and very sarcastic. "I am -so- sorry my lady."

She scoffs, he glares, and it is how it should be. "Look," he says after a moment, "I'll go get another cup from the kitchens."

She stops him, a hand flat on his chest then pulled back immediately to stop touching him. "No. If you leave this room the servants will talk." They cannot leave this room before the morning not if they wanted their loving marriage to be believable.

"I'll be careful, I won't see any of the servants."

She hopes her stare conveys what an idiot she thinks he is, "You may not see them, but they will see you. You cannot. Remember that we have married for love, and those in love do not leave their wedding beds."

"Well…" he trails off voice as helpless as she feels at being caged together. And they are to be caged together _forever_. She eyes the cup, debates for a second then takes it from his hand. They had already kissed after all (she will not think of the kiss though) at this point what further harm could it possibly do?

She drinks deeply, down to the dregs then sets the cup aside. "I suppose we should get on with it."

He barks a laugh, "My. You do say the most romantic things on this our wedding night."

Heat flares up in her belly, some vile concoction of embarrassment and anger. How dare he mock her.

She does her best to school her face, "It is our wedding night and I will do my duty as a wife."

"Implying that I would not do my duty Capulet?"

It hurts more then she expected, him calling her that, so when she corrects him it is with almost a snarl when she says "Montague!"

"Yes, Capulet?" his voice is mocking but in the usual way and Rosaline realises he's genuinely forgotten that…

"Montague," she corrects again and this time her voice cracks, "I am no longer a Capulet."

Instead of the pity, she expects she gets a half smile. "Oh, but you will always be a Capulet in my heart." He has the gentle look on his face that he gets when they forget their place and act friendly, "For you are annoying and shrill as all Capulets are."

A laugh startles out of her, "I am, am I? If I am so terrible perhaps it is right I am now a Montague since all Montagues I have ever known are dull-witted, ill-mannered, curs."

And they're smiling at each other, quite like fools and there is fondness for him rising to rest beneath her breastbone. She wants to hate him, wants for him to be the cause pf all her woes, but the hate has disappeared. She remembers, trying to tear him apart in the alley, if he had only stopped Romeo, or killed Tybalt himself (or maybe it's your fault he replied, did you ever think about that) And she wants to hate him, it should be so easy to hate him as she hates all Montagues, as she hates her father's killers, as she hates Lord Montague and his snide talk of her virtue, but she cannot hate Benvolio.

His smile drops, and he looks at her chewing his lip uncertainly. "Look, I'm no…think what you will about me but know that I would not…never with an unwilling woman." It's odd to see him so tongue-tied. For all times she's called him an idiot Benvolio is in truth very quick of wit yet now he stumbles over his words like a child learning to walk. "That is…I mean. We needn't do any deed tonight or ever. I swear it, on my honour."

Rosaline blinks startled. Olivia had once asked if Benvolio was kind and Rosaline knows that he is. And, though she would never have chosen this marriage it was better then what horrors could have been. She could have married an unkind man, or an old man, or Lord Montague who was both. Instead, she has Benvolio trying to be kind.

"I appreciate that but there are expectations for us. We cannot simply choose to do nothing."

"Expectations yes, but we are the only two in this room and we are, as we both have proved, equally adept at keeping secrets."

He probably would not think her so adept at secrets if he'd seen her display at court this morning but she appreciates the sentiment as foolish as it is. She shakes her head.

"Yes, but the servants will be in in the morning to change the sheets…so…"

He deflates for a moment then brightens "Actually, I've heard of a trick for that. You can buy vials of chicken blood which I admit we do not have-"

"Please just stop. Come here and- and do your husbandly duty."

He makes a ridiculous face at that, "My husbandly duty? Truly my dear Lady Capulet there has never been a more romantic wooing then that."

It's clear now that, like with their marriage kiss, Rosaline must take the lead. She presses close to him standing her feet between his bodies close as she'd only ever been with one other man before and never with the outcome so clear. How dare Benvolio look at her so nervously as though he were the girl with a maidenhead and not a man who goes to brothels.

"Rosaline…" he says, and it is strange to hear her name on his tongue, sweet enough for her to grasps her courage and his face in both hands and kiss him. She tries to remember the hot feeling the arose in her when they kissed before but now with no one to perform for just each other and so the kiss falls flat.

When she pulls away he looks…sad. "I know that you do not want me…want to marry me I mean."

Ashamed, Rosaline steps back from him. "Very well. We won't. No one needs know the truth." She feels foolish, yet, she is relieved that she does not have to lose her maidenhead, tonight because a Prince decreed her to wed and her uncle and Benvolio's uncle agreed to locked them together like a ram and ewe.

"It'll be fine I suppose…the sheets," she clarifies when he looks confused. She twists her hands together. "After all they all think that you…that you and I…"

His face says that he knows what she means. It's a dark look, one of anger and betrayal and she thinks back of the humiliation of that morning in audience with the Prince, of course, the accusations are a painful stain on his honour as well. The world is quite happy to believe that he kidnapped her and stole her virginity. It must gall him as much as it does her.

He bobs his head as if he has come to a decision and when he pulls at the ties of his tunic her heart leaps into her throat. She keeps still as he walks towards her because it -is- her duty and it is a thing that must be done.

But he walks by her towards the bed shedding his tunic as he goes -is she supposed to follow? She makes a step to follow- he's not looking at her why is that worse then him looking at her?- and she has just tentatively reached up to the ribbons that are keeping her coat closed when he pulls the covers down on the bed and unsheathes his dagger. That's not a metaphor; there is literally a dagger in his hand. She shrieks. She cannot help it, her mind flashes back to Juliet's tomb and the bloody dagger.

He looks at her over his shoulder with a crooked half smile. "Don't worry, I have a plan," he says and before she can stop him he presses the sharp tip to the insides of his elbow.

"What are you doing! Stop."

"Relax Capulet," he says like she is being unreasonable here like he did not just cut himself and isn't smearing blood on the sheets. "It's like the chicken blood," he explains smug, a pleased smile lighting his face.

She snatches the dagger from him, heart in her throat, and tosses it away where it clanks harmlessly in a darkened corner of the room.

"You are a…you are the worst…you fool…you, you dog…" she cannot even think of what he is.

"A foolish dog fine but at least they'll see I'm an honorable one," He gives her another crooked smile before looking down at the mess he's made. "Do you think that's good enough?"

"Why would I know?"

"Well you are a woman and it is a woman thing."

"Ugh," She stomps away to find something to bind his wound. "You did not have to do that. I told you I accepted what they would think of me when I went with you."

"But I do not accept what they think of me. They all think me a murder and a rapist. My uncle was very amused by it too, said he expected as much from me. After all," and he drops his voice doing an impersonation of Lord Montague's oily voice, "you cannot leave a juicy bone in front of a dog and be surprized when it runs off with it."

His widen comically when he looks at her face as if only now realising that she was the juicy bone. She flicks a hand at him just as he starts to apologize because it's not him who called her these names and hearing anything his uncle has said second hand is no worse then what had been said about her already to her face.

"It's your uncle who is the dog," she sits back beside him with a cloth and wraps it around his wound, "you and I both know that." Her eyes flick to the blood-stained sheets which would be proof of both their virtue. "Perhaps your trick is not the worst idea you've ever had."

They sit in the awkward silence, her hand on his arm, them sitting close together on the bed.

"I think I must thank you," he says eventually, not looking at her, "I only know what my uncle says, perhaps he lies, he does that but…he says you begged the Prince for my life today."

It's too close to the truth to be comfortable so she shrugs helplessly.

He continues and there is a hint of something there in his voice, "he says your words were fiery and that you threatened the Prince. I think he likes you, at least more then he likes me. Of course, he hates me so that's not very impressive." The mischievous look drops and he says tentatively, "He says you spoke like a woman in love."

Her insides clench.

"As you said, your uncle lies," she says, and he slumps slightly. She amends her words, "I did not say anything that was not true."

"And he said…did you tell the Prince that if I were executed you should be as well?"

That is spoken like an accusation, not a question, but Rosaline will not apologize for her words nor defend them. She still has her hand on his arm and there is something fragile in the air.

"I do not regret anything I said today," she says finally, chin up, eyes on him, daring him to challenge her.

Benvolio opens his mouth, then closes it with a click and stares at her his eyes wide an vulnerable as they were when he asked her to run away with him.

_He says you spoke like a woman in love._

No, she decides fiercely she's not going to think about that.  Before he can say anything or ask any more questions she does not wish to answer she says, "We should go to bed."

He makes an incredulous noise waving his hands towards his blood stains. She rolls her eyes.

"To sleep. We should sleep." As soon as she says it she can feel the weight of the day pressing down on her. "I'm tired. Are you not tired too?"

"Yes, well, it has been a trying day and the castle cells are not particularly comfortable."

With that decided she nods, smooths the blankets down and lies down scooting away from him as she does. Her heart races a little but she ignores it. She is not nervous, she is not embarrassed, and she is certainly not in love and because she is none of these things she can share a bed with him. When she looks over at him he's still just sitting on the edge of the bed looking at her over his shoulder.

"Take your boots off," she tells him, "before you get in the bed."

He smiles, his foolish mocking smile that should make her angry but instead make her feel warm like she had drunk too much wine. "Sorry, am I invited into your bed?"

"It's our bed…and it's not improper since…just lie down," she snaps flustered.

"If it's what you wish."

It's not what she wishes she'd like to retort but she stifles he words because he pulls off his boots like she asked and then he is in the same bed as her. It's a large bed and she tucks herself close to the edge so they do not touch but he is there all the same. He stretches out on the other side on his back and Rosaline closes her eyes hoping that if she feigns sleep she will truly just fall asleep.

"Well, the marriage will make things easier I suppose," he says eventually. She cracks her eyes open to see him staring wistfully up at the ceiling.

"Makes what easier?"

He rolls over so he's facing her. "Investigating. I will no longer have to beg your Uncle for the _pleasure_ of your company." She thinks he's trying to get a rise out of her with his emphasis on the word pleasure, but she is still blinking at the term ‘investigating'.

"The point of our investigations was to halt this marriage."

"True."

"And we are married."

"True again. You were paying attention. Yes, I agree it's a hitch in our plans but were we not also agreed on finding the source of this conspiracy? To find the source of misery plaguing our houses? Or has this marriage already choked you with despair?"

He’s smiling again, jesting as if all the world were a farce but she knows him, and she can see the tightness around his eyes, the thinness of his smile as if her answer truly matters to him. As if she matters. As if she can hurt him because…she can hurt him.

He needs her, he’s said as much. He trusts her. And…he does not want to do this alone.

And he wants her with him.

The realization makes her dizzy. “Yes,” she says then shakes her head in correction, “I mean no I am not in despair. Yes, I still desire to find the fiend haunting our city.” Her words feel serious, as serious as her declarations to the Prince had been. As though it were a vow; as though her words are sacred. She reaches out, across the bed to him palm open. “And I will do this with you. We will do this together Benvolio.”

He breathes in audibly when she says his name -so strange that each other’s names are like secrets hardly said- and it takes a moment before he reaches his hand out the her.

“Together,” he agrees then he adds, “Rosaline.” The sound of his voice saying her name makes delicate wings tremble inside her. Their hands rest together like a business agreement but with a twist her fingers intertwine with his and they lie there, hand in hand. He smiles, and the smile is small but real, not bitter or sarcastic but sweet and reflected in his eyes. There’s nothing else she needs to say because they are in agreement: Whatever tomorrow bestowed on them, they would face it down together.

 


End file.
